In the back of my head, in the garden shed,
I see him as clearly as fresh white paint:
A little boy sat on the creosote floor,
Dragged grazed knees hugged up to his chin,
So familiar, so resonant and never faint.
He shivers and weeps on the wooden ground,
Alone, almost silent, with hardly a sound,
In retreat from a world he cannot understand
That Is ruled and defined by a callused hand.
It's his seventh birthday and a slowing flood
Of mucus and blood flows from swollen lips,
A tooth bares a nerve and a jagged chip,
But the pain means no more than dandelion clocks
Or cuckoo spit; the act alone the gestalt of it.
Some days he would walk for miles,
To see beyond the next hill, around the bend,
Kicking slowly along, his shadow twice his size,
Dwarfing him, tracking him, a passive friend.
Perhaps to find some haven, someone to
Take him in, rescue his heart, and want him;
But strangers, though kindly, approached
With the dusk and it always ended the same way:
"Where do you live?" they would say
And thoroughly drilled, he would quietly reply,
In emotion drained monotone,
His address and number of the telephone,
And they always took him back home.
Some days he would walk for miles,
To sit on the edge of the viaduct,
Perched perilously with nothing to lose,
Dangling feet in small scuffed shoes,
Dropping pebbles and stones to the
Rocks and undergrowth far, far below,
Imagining if he may fall in their stead,
What then would be left to know?
The fall down the stairs snapped his ankle
Like a spindly twig, fractured some ribs,
Dislocated his jaw.
The children's ward, antiseptic and bright,
Young nurses in uniform, starched and white
Were so kind to him, he almost cried, bringing concern
And orange squash and a paper straw.
Sometimes it’s like this when things go wrong,
A scapegoat is needed to blame things on.
People thought him shy, with head bowed low,
Lost in comics and books, lost in himself,
Denying the threat of another blow.
He was not shy, just hiding and biding,
Keeping his head down and trying not to show.
Life is a scoundrel, and time a cohort thief,
Stealing a childhood with no reprieve,
Leaving only the slow burning sense of relief,
That an unpleasant childhood seemed mercifully brief.

Once a place that sold cultivated pigment, the shop has become a catacomb,
Windows entombed by cardboard boxes, deprived of the merest hint of life and
I wonder if the gallery owner had intended a display of irony or focused rage.
Gone, the watercolour weeping chartreuse, its soft backdrop of midnight blue,
And the oil on wood with knife strokes applied so thickly, it almost moved,
Charcoal sketches of thunderstorms hitting the shores of Port Elgin, greys loud.
Dark now the halls that had sheltered dreamscapes, art of all disciplines and sizes,
Squeezing themselves into corners and elbowing each other for my attention.
I ache for that one perfect dove that called to me from an azure sky, the one who
knew my name, but I did not have the funds to take him home to my little cage.
He deserved a rectory or a view that would at least provide a kind of sanctuary.
Oh, how his wings had beat against pulse points and one of his feathers tickled
out a memory of a robin that had flown towards a cloudless sky, but instead had
collided with a picture window; the contact point marred by a red, sickle shaped
smear, and my grandmother had carefully wrapped the corpse in yesterday’s news.
I had trudged out to the garbage can, unseen, found the poor thing in its shroud,
Snuck out to the garden and buried it amongst tall phlox and florid snap dragons,
I’d succumbed to tears, wrenched by a world where beauty is fragile and disposable.
Today people walk along the street, wearing blinders, holding devices that fail to
signal that something living and real slowly starved to death, atrophied, and I watch
a happy child point to a puddle, but her mother fails to see the large coin it holds.
I recall a portrait that had enraptured like a sun shower, reminiscent of light and rain,
A girl traipsing waves, almost overtaken, her footsteps disappearing under foam…
And I silently apologize to those artists unmet, the ones who continue to meet panes.
*Please click on the About my Poem link to see a picture of what inspired this poem... It has been closed for a while, but today, I walked past it and remembered the lovely art that I had once appreciated, yet was never able to afford.

On a slope graced with green
White marble stands in proud salute
For beneath these engraved pillars of memory
Lie the resting places of heroes
A solitary green fir looks down
As if sheltering the lost and the taken
So many names, from all walks of life
A father, brother a girlfriend or wife
On a sunny day, they glow radiant like their lives
On a dull day, they stand out against the greys
For the living, life goes on
Tomorrow is another day

Helen Lorraine Allison, 2, Titanic Victim
Oh, they swung the lifeboats out
O'er the deep and ragin' sea,
When the band struck up with
"Nearer My God to Thee."
Little children wept and cried,
As the waves swept o'er the side.
It was sad when the great ship went down.
~ The Titanic (Husbands and Wives), Folk Song ~
__________________________________________
At first, the waters were so very cold,
And the night was filled with horrid weeping,
Some men were shouting like when Mamma scolds,
But others lay still like they were sleeping,
Then warmth I felt, oh, what a sweet creeping,
The sea called to me with almost a sigh,
Down, down I went, a treasure worth keeping,
Now waves mother me and sing lullabies.
A ship is my playground, rotting and old,
Krill float through my home, so shyly peeping,
Starfish do what they want, are somewhat bold,
Anemones sway, forever sweeping,
Over still things, my spirit is leaping,
Though I’m in darkness, here I can fly,
The hull thins with its rusticles heaping,
Now waves mother me and sing lullabies.
The ocean is quiet but stories I’m told,
Lost memories, tales of sadness seeping,
But I’ve no company, no hand to hold,
My doll is broken, my toys are steeping,
I’m so sleepy and my lids are drooping,
I remember how once I used to cry,
And then came the deep’s heartless kidnapping,
Now waves mother me and sing lullabies.
Careless were they, I was for safekeeping,
Children shouldn’t be heard, please tell me why,
Hushed and rushed with death’s untimely reaping,
Now waves mother me and sing lullabies.

The cracked spine of
the book I dropped
at the call.
A chip in my
windshield left by a
pompous *?#@! in a
red sports car as I
drive to the
service.
Rain expectorating
from an ashen sky as
the dirt is turned.
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
crack in grandma’s
spine from her fall
down the stairs.
The chip in her
amazingly smart mind
after eighteen years
as a teacher.
Tears running,
dripping from my
Mothers ashen face
as she cries “My
mama’s dead.”
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
cracked family
emotions left raw
and empty.
The chip in Grandpas
numb mind at the
gathering… “Where is
Irene she should be
here?”
Faces gone ashen
with dread, do we
leave him numb or
remind him that his
wife is dead?
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
empty silences,
missing the jokes
Grandma used to
crack.
Grandma’s laugh and
her endless smile
which always exposed
that tooth with the
chip in it.
Without her the
world has become
empty, bleak, and
ashen.
Today is terrible.
Summer
Gratias

Is It God We Trust? Or Leave In the Dust?
As our courts remove God from this great nation.
We are left with a confused and lost generation!
As God is taken away from our public schools.
A huge tide of immorality is what “rules.”
The Bible is often mocked and discarded.
It was on it’s principles this country was started!
Just about anything of God seems to get scorned.
So many “rush” to worship many ungodly forms.
As God’s name is often tossed and thrown out.
We tend to forget what HE is all about!
Too often, his plans for living are tossed and abused.
No wonder, there’s many who are lost and confused!
As people forget God and worship the fallen creature.
They look to themselves and “glorify” their features.
Many ignore God, and get involved in deep addictions.
And with this, come disease,
heartache and afflictions!
As God looks and sees this nation “bleeding.”
It’s his righteousness, that we need to be seeking!
If we would humble ourselves, he would hear our prayer!
He loves all of us! And he really does care!
Won’t you come to HIM, And invite him in?
Won’t you allow him to be your master and friend?
He brings strength and nourishment to the soul!
It’s only in him that we can be made whole!
By Jim Pemberton

Oh! Humanity,
How you’ve completely lost your sanity.
Did you forget how to grow?
Every one of you was planted row by row.
Did your heavenly Father not nurture you with love?
Did He not make the rains fall from up above?
Oh where is your heart?
Who gave you your first start?
Oh! Humanity,
What vanity!
Oh! Humanity,
What profanity!
Daylight hours just wash ashore,
With simple lives from once before!
Have you forgotten your heavenly Mother?
And what about your heavenly Brother?
Where is your Godforsaken mind?
What happened to being loving and kind?
Oh! Humanity,
How you’ve provoked such a calamity!
® Registered: Ann Rich 2006

People were
Many things.
Strange or not
People were
Different and
Odd and fun.
People were
Monsters but…
That’s not all
People were
And still are
Strange and odd.
People are
People. For
life is life.
Yet not.
Not is lies.
Truth seeps from
Every mouth
Lies, lies, lies
Move, move, move
But somehow
Lies prevail.
Lies are life.
Lies are death.
Lies are homes.
Lies are pain.
Lies are truth.
Yet somehow.
Truth prevails.
Truth is life.
Truth is death.
Truth is home.
Truth is pain.
Truth is lie.
Truth is that.
Lies will die.
Lies will cease.
Nevermore.
Truth will live.
Truth will be.
Forever.

< Destruction of beautiful mother earth
Will it spin off mantel like head to gawk
Or destroyed by mankind for what it's worth
Floods fires quakes acts from natures own birth
Litterbugs arsonists terrorists balks
Destruction of beautiful mother earth
Illuminate waters that someone hurts
Cleanliness is painted in Godly chalk
Or destroyed by mankind for what it's worth
Man woman and even thy smallest mirth
For thy Father in our Heaven will stalk
Destruction of beautiful mother earth
Eagle that soars a wolf howling from girth
Will thy it's freedom ring out thus like the hawk
Or destroyed by mankind for what it's worth
Like land before time when man walked
Wonder how forces existed and talked
Destruction of beautiful mother earth
Or destroyed by mankind for what it's worth

As I look out upon the desert floor, its beauty I espy.
A lizard awaits the sun to land for its’ sunning to apply.
A mother quail runs from her hole with 7 chicks in tow.
A comedy of running feet, they are found rarely still at all.
A mother dove nests high above, in a saguaro nestled deep.
A cactus wren finds fruit up high, from a cactus she will eat.
A hawk soars high above it all, seeking a breakfast to enjoy.
As fruit trees abound in every yard, amid varied colored stones.
Geese find lakes and golf course ponds with only minor flights.
But don’t forget the smaller things that crawl within the night
The occasional snake will rear its head to look around or bite.
But in cities they are rare, preferring desert solitude and quiet.
You best be quick or miss it all, no other choice there is, I insert.
We’re not alone within these lands of desert sands and dirt.
In a place most think lost, with no more than destitute emptiness,
Is a place where people and migrating birds seek to live with cactus.
And don’t forget the forests high; with wildlife found that’s rather large.
Where bears and pumas dance each day in some one’s great backyard.
Far away a coyote runs a jackrabbit deep into the hidden earth.
As armadillos move along before found, in the daily heats rebirth.
Don’t be silly some will say… it’s only sand, and dirt, and heat.
But I know it comes with great abundance and multitudes complete.
There are those who know the truth, like you, and of course like me.
Who each day find life, and beautiful sunsets in its magical relief’s.

I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. News of another massacre darkens my eyes
Winds are thirsty there. They continue to taste the young blood.
I groom myself with exquisite things,
Sipping ice tea in ac room, I comfort myself
And Kashmir burns. Kashmir set ablaze
I can smell the warm blood of beaten corpse
Where from winds bought this smell. Somewhere Karbala reborn.
Mosques are being slammed
There windows stoned. And the black boots leave their footprints on Mimber
Even God judges on evidence
There is one Imaam left now; he hides her daughters in his shadow
A blunt knife in his hands; soon he will sacrifice them to keep their innocence
Kashmir is burning. Kashmir is bleeding
And I write.
Army jeep chases the tracks. To find the associated bodies
They are alive now. Soon they will be dead
From Patan to Sopor, And in narrow passages of nostalgic downtown
Ghosts of curfew
Haunt the houses for young souls.
From the Kupwara cantonments, search lights chase emptiness
Nothing is left now. Search lights can’t see inside the graves
A boy there went missing for two days. His father starts digging his grave.
I put my earphones on and I close my eyes. I sleep
While my Kashmir is ablaze
“It’s me poor farmer’s son. Kupwara’s charm, I feel no pain”.
I see him so alive in my dreams.
He chants songs of Mahjoor from his burnt lips. My hands shiver. He has no finger nails.
I see his smoke tanned skin. Same as that of Khayam’s barbeques
He stands at a distance from me. I can still smell kerosene
“Tell my mother to let her heart become cold. Her heart will not bear my state.
Tell my mother to let her eyes become blind. Her eyes will not withstand my sight.”
I follow him towards his tortured body. He tells me to follow the spilled blood.
His blood has made its own Jhelum. I row on it. Until it gets lost in black boots
The story will turn into legend. I find his body no more.
On the streets silence prevails. Nobody has permission to wail.
Sisters are beatifying coffins while brothers look for stones.
For bullets there will be stones
Kashmir is ablaze. She is wailing in grotesque tones.
In Lal Ded hospital a new born cries: Father register me at cantonment then take me out
Death is recruiting in dozens at a time.
Tomorrow is curfew. Death has no curfew pass.
How they want to identity you. Becomes your identity
People burn up all you identity cards.

I left Ireland in the 80's with my husband and two babies for Holland. In 2003, we
returned so that our children could have an Irish University education. Dublin was
buzzing with life at the time, it was very expensive but we were home. Now in 2011,
my daughter is emigrating, back down the old ancestral path, she is going to Madrid
to teach English there. Our country has collapsed so badly, there is no employment
here so we are exporting our young, educated children by the day. A sad day for me
as my daughter leaves tomorrow. I wrote her this poem.
To Sarah
On the wave of emigration
I want you to know
That I see you, a fellow female
An equal on every level
Not just my daughter
My little pink princess
I see you as a woman
A power within this world
With oceans to offer
A lifetime still to learn
Go to your new life
A teacher in Madrid
Be free and fearless
Spread your wings and fly
Take the opportunities
Shape them to your dreams
You have all the tools
You can use them now.
Your analytic mind
Will help you make good decision
Fair and just rewards will ensue.
Your radiating heart
Will gift you new friendships
Maybe even a new love
All in good time
You will never be alone
Because you have a deep sense of self
This will be fortified
With this new tide
Your feet firmly planted
Will always serve you well
Balancing the ups and downs of Libra
Always true to yourself
Life will be true to you too.
We live in a new age today
This global world is small
As we email and skype
Fly back and forth to visit
We will continue to love
As mother and daughter
Our journeys through life
Shared
Forever together
My love
I will hold you safe
In my heart.

Nature’s Single Dad:
The Australian Emu :
The first 55 days
Emund is busy
preparing his
dance-floor for
partners who’ll put
him to the test.
His pedigree line
has proven with time
that it is now his
turn, to be best.
He hears them emerge
from the bush as
they gather in
answer to nature’s
call.
They dance, and then
go away, they know
they cannot stay;
there is not enough
food for them all.
They dip and they
weave as they mingle
together knowing
that each has a
chance
With his reputation,
there is no
hesitation;
he is ready to join
in the dance.
‘Bonk! Bonk,’ comes
the sound of another
arrival, ‘It’s
Emulena!’ he says
with a grin.
Others move to the
side as he leaves
them mid-stride
to greet this dancer
as she flounces in.
With sensuous,
rhythmic movement of
hips she fluffs up
her boa, it bounces
in time.
He matches her mood.
His movements are
smooth
as they twist and
twirl in their
dancing mime.
He does not fuss
about who takes the
lead, he follows and
their dance now is
ending.
With steps that are
light he glides to
the right,
he meets her, bows
deeply, head
bending.
Emulena says,
“Sorry, we cannot
stay longer, we all
must find paddocks
anew.
It matters not
whether we all stay
together,
we trust you to know
what to do.”
As she speaks, they
deposit their gifts,
and he hears, as in
chorus they say,
“We know you’ll do
magically, what you
do naturally
to deliver these in
your own way.”
After completing her
task, Emulena stands
tall and she fluffs
up her feathers once
more.
They follow her lead
in twos, and in
threes,
and promenade across
the dance floor.
Left all alone, he
goes back to his
duties and looks
closely at each pale
green shell.
He checks all for
defects. He sees
they are perfect,
so with care he
covers every one
well.
He sticks to his
task for fifty-five
days in sunshine,
strong winds and
some showers.
He values each
treasure and tends
them with pleasure
as he, turns each
egg every three
hours.
Through his long
lashes he sees
danger coming. He
drops his neck down
like a log.
Feathers flying on
high and red fur
prowls near-by;
he needs to fool
both bird and dog.
The shells have now
turned a dark bluey
green, there’s an
infertile egg in the
batch.
This egg will be
food for his hungry
brood;
but he won’t eat or
drink, ‘til they
hatch.
Each day he looks
up, and turns his
head to the sun as
it rises each
morning.
He’ll sit day and
night until the
time’s right.
He knows, that time
comes without
warning.
to be continued...

When I'm home sick, sulking half the day because your not here,
And getting sadder if I say madder because your not there,
I remind myself in an unusual way theres worse fared,
If you don't mind being compared,
Repeating the many ways you cared,
The experiences fondly replayed in many ways,
Thoughts and memories that make me gay,
Every recipe, every taste,
Looking back it all seems in an awkward haste,
Now it is what I use to fill my plate,
It's what I use so I won't be late,
Staying here learning to appreciate,
All the miles, trucks caring freight..
For your Christmas gifts the children just can't wait,
But if you visit my mind would quake.

Dropped out of school
At an early age
Lived on the streets
Because, I disgusted my mother
She thought I was a poor example
Of true Christian beliefs
At an early age
She religiously drummed into me
‘blood is thicker than water’
And yet,
Here I am today confused, lonely and hungry
No one protecting me
No friends
No family
No home to go too
Just, peoples eye for an eye,
tooth for a tooth mentality
Praying for the sun to shine
To feel some warmth again!
Sun rays of hope, lighting me up
To live through this darkness without fear
With a heart full of faith
No matter what happens to me, now!
If only I could drink my salty tears
It would sustain me for a lifetime
Your tears are worth nothing, around here
You’re classed as weak and venerable
Only attracting death
Your life worth nothing!
Save me from myself
I am my best friend
I am my worst enemy
My prayers and dreams
Lost in the wind
Blowing around like autumn leaves
The rain washing them away
Down the drain into the sewage
Rolling with the seasons
Year after year
Survival for the fittest!
Surviving on the love
Hidden, inside me
Being my strength and guide
My personal lifeline
In surviving this crazy world
We all live in

I squint just right
And capture a memory almost forgotten
Jars of fruit and honey fresh from hives
Filling shelves in old smokehouse
Home-made butter and molasses
In her kitchen
Waiting to smother
Biscuits warming
On black cast iron wood-stove
Boxes of buttons
An old cameo
Split wood in corner
Old sleepy dog on porch
The house on the hill
Where Mom's Granny rocked
16Feb14

dear
daddy
even though
your gone from here
I shall remember
father's day has always
been your favorite time so
today I come and placed a rose
at the foot of your grave- sites bedding
and I even placed one for mama too
In Loving Memory
Daddy 1925-1981
Mama 1934-2005
{RIP}

The soldier, the war, and I
Today I am home and thinking to my self..
What would I be doing if I had a soldier coming home to me and my family?
What would I be doing if I was the soldier looking to going home to my family?
And then, I look back at all the years passed since this last war..
Many children have grown to become men, Others have grown to become soldiers
Where would I be if I had gone to the war and fought for my country?
Where would I be if I had gone and came back safely?
Where would I be if I had not gone at all because I was not qualified to go?
Would I be with my family or in a hospital injured?
Would I be standing proud, and laughing with my friends and family?
Or would I be dead, as I never got to come back?
Today I am home and thinking to myself..
Thinking of all of those brave soldiers, children still
Who are out there, suffering.. And some ill
Today I am home and thinking to myself..
How many woman are crying because of their gone loved ones
How many men are crying for their loved and missed ones
How many children are fatherless or motherless, or both!
And at the end I stop. I think no more..
I am grateful for the things I have,
I am grateful for the people who surround me...
And I am sure grateful to never have gone to a war; yet,
I sure appreciate the thoughts, courage, life, and suffering
Of all of those who have been touched by it.

There's this girl that I know who misses her home
The place filled with laughter, her joy, and her hope.
This girl, she is sad, and I've seen her heart break.
She just doesn't belong here, and she doesn't want to stay.
When she's at the beach she just sits and she stares
Across the water to who knows where.
The ocean is the one place she has found on this Earth
That fills her with any kind of peace and hope.
Though still she is sad, she's not where she belongs,
But at least at the ocean the fierce homesickness calms.
She'll walk down the beach and look out at the water,
Totally uncaring of those who might watch her.
She knows she's not normal, that she isn't like them.
But she knows that they cold never understand.
This girl that I speak of, how I know her well. Yet at the same time I hardly know her at all.
It seems to me as I walk down that beach that
I'm never gonna know of who I truly speak.
Because as long as I'm here, so far from my home, my heart, my pain there, my hope,
I am only half here.
I am only half home.
And all that I want....I just want to go home.

Shades of color bounce within
Singing their hues dancing in place
Vivid lines colored outside
Rules broken with empty space
A midnights dream heard and seen
Gleaming from the twinkle of a eye
Wings touched flown and plucked
Gliding like a bird up in the sky
Wishes from pennies thrown into tears
The reservoir over flowing with pigments of pain
Drowning from the shadows
The flood paints the day
Words speak volumes of silence hidden
Their sounds blind to what they see
Mirrors of nouns and verbs
Their meaning and secrets lost at sea
Emotions ruled by laws of language
Spelled in boxes of glass
Melted from sands inside
That voices strangle to grasp

spin the lamp all the way down,
lay low the polio eradic skyline.
down to where beds exit through
lime hollow eyelids.
saint isotope on a pillowcase full
of bright neurons.
the mineral vertebrates standing
upright in the name of science shuffle
like ghost in florescent gowns.
a quick flutter of the eyelash and the
spirit returns to liquid.
microwave membranes lying on soft satin,
buzzing radon hewn pixels.
they float like tangerine slices in orange jellow.
strange apron grandmother for a god.
chernobol piety.... long robed orthodox priest
wandering through octane green forest nights.

Our lives are like stories
Like the ones found in books
We all play our part in the plot
But you were a bit more than just a character
Babe, you were a chapter
Chapters begin and end so quickly
So fleeting, like the way we would flirt
A heart-pounding beginning with a dry, cold close
I'm saying good bye
This is for every time I could have cried
This is for every night that you forgot I exist
But I haven't shed a tear on you and, boy, I'm not gonna try
This is for every single mean thing you say
This is me deciding not to pretend I'm looking the other way
This is something I'm doing for me
So good bye, cause no longer will I be the girl who is blind
The chapter has sealed itself shut
So sit in your room and play some mean songs about me
I don't care, I know somebody with nicer hair
As a kid you must have been the bully on the playground
I'm done being the girl you give affection to and push down
And I'm tired of standing on the sidelines while you try to run the show
I'm gonna move on with my life
Prove there are things you will never know
There are things that books can't tell you
Things only the heart can understand
You don't have one of those
So, pardon me, if I don't consider you a man
The chapter has ended but I won't shed a tear
The future's too bright for me to look back to darkness

I walk outside to see all that I can see.
Over there is our house, our home,
In the distance, you can see.
And that place of hallowed happiness
Forever has been our home
And forever will be so evermore.
That house is small but raised us tall,
From the perfect parents who loved us so
To the perfect sister for which every man would want.
The house built us all up strong.
More than a mere building,
It is a place to love and be loved,
A place that hands you hope that you give right back,
And a place of everlasting faith.
This home is where my parents taught me about God
And opened me up to Jesus.
They opened the eyes of the blind for all to see,
And the blind included me.
They taught me to be the best I can be;
The best things in life are free.
They have taught us so well,
And they all have saved my soul.
Even if I am not there now,
I carry Him with me.
I carry them with me.
I carry Their values and Their teachings with me.
In this house, this home,
We reside.
We cannot forget this.
This is where my Mother lives.
This is where my Father lives.
This is where my Sister lives.
This is where We live,
In this loving, caring, beautiful home
They made just for us.
We cannot forget this either.
This is where it all began.
This is where the hunger and thirst was created;
This is where we are fulfilled.
We cannot, we must not forget this:
This is where God lives.
This is where Jesus lives.
This is where The Lord lives;
The Father and The Almighty.
This is where We live;
This is where We reside.
We must not forget this.
We must not forget this:
What a beautiful and perfect life this is.

I sit on the floor and wait from dusk to dawn, for a new day will soon be reborn. I count all
the blooming flowers, and count down the long hours, while mum takes her shower.
Today's the day, for it's my birthday. I hope I get A car, or A guitar or maybe even become
A movie star, but that's asking A bit too much of me. I walk around singing out A loud,
acting proud feeling as if my heads in A cloud. To my surprise I start stumbling over my
words and begin mumbling. Maybe mum just forgot about me, or are they just hiding the
presents from me? I walk through the hall, with my head dragging looking at the floor,
and go to bed with my heart feeling torn. It's getting late and I can no longer wait. I turn
off my light, and close my eyes and cry having so much things go through my mind. I
drift to sleep but then I see, mum walking in my room in the middle of the night with A
light. It's so bright. She raises my heart like A kite, taking of it flight and she says, good
night, and turns of the lights. She raised my hopes high and then shot them out of the
sky. I break down and cry, it feels as if I've just died. No one remembered why today was
A special day for it was my birthday. I look at the sky and wonder why? I light my candle
and close my eyes, tears dripping down onto my thighs, and I start to whisper in my
mind. "I don't want A car, or even A guitar. I don't even want to become A movie star. I
just want to be free of this disease called poverty, I just want people to stop running away
from me. Free me of aids so I can stop feeling afraid. Stop me from being poor, so I can
afford to stop sleeping on the floor. Make me smile for there is no reason to smile, but
please make my life worth while. Take me away from Africa, for all I see is people being
raped and all the kids hearts filled with hate, I'm loosing my faith for I am living each day
even though there is nothing to live for". A Tear drops on my candle, And puts out the
flame I whisper in pain,This is "My Birthday Wish"
We wish for luxuries that only money can afford. They wish for water for they are poor.
People need to learn to smile, for kids living in poverty have A legitimate reason not too.
Be happy for what we have, and never complain for what we don't have.
- Wiko Te Maru

Do my children know how much I love them?
No, of course they don't.
They weren't allowed to know.
Do they know how intense the pain is,
to go forward,
while not being allowed
to be their mom, or their dad?
No, but they know the intensity of heartbrokeness,
while going forward,
without their parents,
whom they should have never been taken away from.
They know the depths of lack,
that they were never meant to know...
They know the fears and the terror
that a "supposedly good place"
will unmercifully and maliciously inflict.
They knew the courage, as babes,
that grown-ass folk
won't walk in.
They know that you can't trust
the government,
or the agencies,
or the people in those agencies,
that are suppose to protect them
and their family units.
How could they possibly know
the depths of my love for them?
When they are still
stuck there
surrounded by people
who destroyed
their family
and screwed with their beginnings?

In a river marsh, where pondweeds and cattails grew in warm clime,
the fair girl found a tall, black egret
with whom she could have a chat;
and was it the same one that her parents rescued from the wild?
Among bulrushes taller than she actually was,
the anxious girl told that bird one of her wishes:
to hop on his back and fly as the happiest butterfly,
and find her mom whom she remembered singing a lullaby.
" Take me to my mom!" she begged the wading bird.
" Nobody ever takes me there to visit her" she exclaimed.
" She may be miles away from here...way past the blue ocean!"
He replied with little confidence, lacking a sense of emotion.
The fair girl kept on begging, until the black egret finally nodded.
" Thank you, kind bird...now let's fly and depart from this marshland!"
So the two of them ventured into a cloudy sky expecting no rainfall...
not until they had gotten there safely and heard that sweet mother's call..

We turned to each other when we heard on the news
Our daughters place of work, enduring mother nature's bruise
She worked on an island now swamped with wrath
To her we now travel to retrace her last path
To go there blind never knowing if she breathes
Thoughts think the worst as we subconsciously grieve
Our daughter, our life, as we make plans to depart
Facing hours of torment as our minds tear apart
To this island we head where she enjoys life to the full
Thinking back to her young years, learning in school
This paradise as she calls it, in the Indian Ocean
Our minds picture, her love to live notions
We step of the plane into a world far from home
Praying we find her, dead or alive, to never roam
To the north of the island, Aceh is it's name
Is this where we find her, with no one to blame
We reach the village, it's where our daughter calls home
Teaching the youngsters English along the beaches they combed
We wander dazed and confused, joining the crying and the grieving
Emotional rescuers surround us, they just keep on believing
Hand in hand we stare hoping, as our eyes glimpse the lost
Our daughters not there, as we join the emotional exhaust
Suddenly I feel a tugging on my sleeve
Lady lady, you my teachers mama, come with me please
Looking down, my eyes cascading with tears
A beautiful young girl, momentarily relieving my fears
Lady lady, please please, come with me please
To a makeshift hospital she takes us, our hearts so in unease
To a door we arrive, she cries, mama's teacher mama's teacher
As she is led away by the hospital preacher
We are greeted by a doctor, taken through corridors of death
The relieving earlier felt, now replaced by inner reft
The stench of death drifts, lost souls we feel crying
Resonating sounds echo, the last breaths of the dying
Cubicle after cubicle, every curtain our hearts run
In broken English, is she the one, is she the one
The second curtain from the last, the doctor once again opens
Despair and tears increase, parents lost in their hoping
Before us lies, a broken twisted bandaged soul
The tattoo on her ankle, I cry Nicole, it's our Nicole
Engulfed with emotions our cheeks streaming with tears
Viewing the earlier posters, parents losing their fears
Living this moment, realising their daughter has lived
As we look back to the pictures, knowing families are sieved
Words we will remember until the day we are gone
That moment we heard, is she the one, is she the one

You think you might be in love.
You think he/her might be in love with you.
You think about a lot of things. Do you really know those things?
You think a lot, you worry a lot.
But do you really HAVE to think or worry about those things?
Or do you WAN'T to think or worry about those things?
Now that there is something to think about.
*please leave a comment if you like it or fav poem if you might*
-Angel4eva23

Watch me as I shoot across the midnight sky
Looking almost as beautiful as I am fast
I do my best to try not to die
But we both know that I cannot last
Flames and faith blazing as I go
Because I know that just up around the bend
Is forever somewhere that I do not know
Is forever somewhere near my sweetest friend
Is forever somewhere where I still love you so
and forever somewhere near my bitter end..

Some folks believe it. Others do not. The legend told in the Bayou Cannot. The only witness who can swear that it's true, are the creatures who live in the bayou. The owl told the gator, the gator told the frog, about the horror filled night that changed their home in the bog. Far off on the mainland, miles from the marsh, in a large city, where living is harsh. A man's world invention sprang into life. A breath of fresh air to man's world of strife. A new deisel engine, queen of the line, would make it run for the very first time. The sunset limited it was aptly named. Gleamed in the station waiting its moment of fame. Boarded by folks going south, some headed out west, none mindful of anything, but each's own quest. New York to L.A. via the southern run. So it was, the trip had begun. Back in the bog, things were happening too. A barge made its way north with its captain and crew. The day had been hot. The night had turned cool. The fog roiled in, with its blanket of dew. The captain steered his tug, painfully slow, caution was key to safely deliver the tow. All of a sudden there was a scrape and a jolt the barge floated free, not held by a bolt. Panic seized the crew! "We've lost the tow!" "MAYDAY!" screamed the captain over the radio. Amid the chaos and moans of disdain, another great jar, "We've got it again!". Back on land not far down the track the Limited sped with a clickety-clack. Approaching the tressel no one noticed the shake. Who could blame the poor folks; the hour was late. Midway over the bayou came the tressels demise. A great shiver another great quake, tons of speeding steel, folks met their sad fate. Days went by weary and sad. Rescuers agreed none worked a wreck this bad. Twisted and bent the engine was pulled from the muck and the slime. "102" came the final count, the coroner spoke and noted the time. A weary voice shouted "Wait!" "Sir, I disagree!" Tired eyes turned, what did they see? A weary man held in his arms a child about three. Today believers say "an angel wanders." "A tiny spirit" Others agree. On foggy nights when no moon can be. A tiny light flickers so you will see. "It's a firefly!" Say the skeptics of haunt. The creatures disagree and murmur their taunt. They know the spirit of the child now lives in their swamp.
Written by my grandmother Sandra Burch

Parents and spouses to their photo's they look, Another
hero was killed fighting for our freedom. Lost
so far from his home and family, Today
we continue to send our sons and daughters, But
there will come a day when, They
will live as free as we do. Will
we ever learn from these theatres, Never
again should we out live our children. Be
cause' another was lost today, but they will never be, Forgotten
" I hope i have done this form devised by Dane Ann and HG proud "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-6.php

Being born in the postwar fifties,
after darkness and catastrophe
ascended on all Europe,
I didn't experience cruelty and horror...
but hope came from the defenders of freedom
from North America and England;
and their military supremacy crushed
Hitler's vanity and his inhumane empire!
I was given birth by a courageous mother,
who saw bombs drop on buildings,
and escaped to the countryside with a few belongings...
dragging grandmother to safety!
Fear was everywhere...people had to hide,
and liberty was a forbidden cry;
even in the Vatican City, and rumors...
if not facts, confirmed that some
were afraid to speak against this evil,
but continued to tremble,
and in doing so they let many die!
Wasn't God angry at their hypocrisy;
and if they had taken a stand against the evildoers...
wouldn't it spared many?
It's my turn to protest the evil
that destroyed the life of big and small
for their faith, religion and race;
those voices are still ignored,
but they are finally heard;
their thirst for peace and justice
will be quickly quenched!
It's my turn to heal their wounds
with sweet and consoling words of kindness,
and alleviate their fears that what happened yesterday...
must not be repeated in our history;
and wil I be able to do this without facing controversy?
It's my turn to use the written word,
to outshine everyone whose interest is greed!
Nobody more than I
was saddened by this tragedy,
so powerful and overwhelming,
to promptly modify the traits of my personality;
to be more considerate and caring,
and partake in Humankind's destiny!
An Aquarius has many
distinguishing qualities
and talents, and I intend to use them wisely...
listening to their struggles
with much sympathy!
It's my turn to use the written word,
to declare war on the state of unfair things,
proceed with caution on flapping winds...
to land where I am welcomed,
and see every hand touching mine;
only when the their joy returns, I can certainly smile!

You see that man over there
sitting stern faced in his chair?
Look closer, see that twinkle in his eye?
That's a glimpse of softness that you spy
You see that woman laughing there
dancing eyes & witty air?
Look closer, see the iron & grit?
That's a glimpse of strength, wrapped like a gift
They made me who I am today
tightened the reins when I went astray
The calming center in a teenage storm
The home fires that still keep me warm
He gave me the gift of discipline & control
She is the sunshine that fills my soul
He taught me young of the cowboy ways
She set my passion for words ablaze
He taught me to be fair & just
She showed me kindness was a must
He showed me how to draw respect
She taught me to rely on humor & intellect
A parent must first be your teacher
sometimes judge, jury & preacher
Their wisdom guided me in my youth
They guide me still, to tell the truth
(c) August 2003

As I recall my past, it was a sea kissed life
summers spent roaming the Rabbit Burrows
cradled by dunes, beyond Tramore strand
towels stretched out on Woodstown beach
soft powdered sand, surrounded by forest
adventures in the Saleens, daring quicksand
of swimming with dad, high jumping waves
falling, laughing in great gulps of salt water
free and fearless, in our bare bronzed years
It was a sea salted life of wave-washed castles
of tide pools, alive with translucent shrimps
carmine anemones sucked tight to the rocks
periwinkles, hermit crabs, a world of shells
baby pink crabs moving sideways over stone
textured algae, salted, crisping in the heat
our faces stinging with sand and hot sunshine
we spent hours with nets, exploring the pools
After months and years of living near the sea
the landscape became an essential part of me.
I saw fuchsia ballerinas pirouette the breeze
sea pinks, grassy rosettes swaying on cliff tops
rocket, tiny lilac petals with succulent leaves
valerian, a candy floss pink, sweetly scented
We picked them and pressed them into books
I recall my child’s life with a skipping heart
when summers seemed to shine eternal
The rock pools taught us to treasure nature
togetherness bred a strong sense of self
a respect for the sea, the taste of freedom
when I open a book, I often find a flower
and shells - this child is forever combing

Copper pennies she would save throughout her younger years,
to indulge in penny poker with her husband and her friends.
She’d tuck away her winnings in her special penny tin,
hoping each and every week that she would win again.
But alas her nights of poker would come crashing to an end,
with her husband’s passing followed by the death of poker friends.
She kept her tin of pennies for the memories they possessed,
their significance in her life was more extraordinary in her death.
For when she passed the hurt was so intense I could not bear,
for her gift of life to me was gone, my soul was in despair.
Then suddenly without warning pennies started to appear,
strategically left in places to remind me that she’s here.
The places I have found them are remarkable I attest,
like atop of my salt shaker, for to her salt was the best.
I found one on my keyboard as she knows the time I spend,
working diligently on a computer from morning till day’s end.
Of all the twelve I’ve found so far, the most incredible I think,
is the one left on my birthday in the center of my sink.
For each one I receive I thank my mom from deep inside,
For sending pennies from heaven makes my aching hurt subside.
This story is quite sincere, so I felt it must be told,
As all my pennies from heaven are as precious as pure gold.

I met a woman, fell in love
She was a gift from above
Soon she became my spouse
We gathered things and set up house.
Some things were new without a flaw
Some were hand me downs from Ma and Paw
For some we saved nickels in a can
Some were bought on the installment plan.
Children came – a total of four
Two boys – two girls- no need for more
We managed to provide room and board
Did the best we could afford.
We moved around from house to house
On an adventure – me and my spouse
Gathering things to which we would cling
But we rarely got rid of anything.
Tables, chairs, couches, and beds
Cabinets and shelves taller than our heads
Mugs, pictures, and bells we did collect
Mementoes and heirlooms on which to reflect.
A man gathers a lot in over fifty years
And remembers many of them with tears
Many a thing still fills my house
But it’s not a home without my spouse.
She has a room in a retirement home
Care is provided and she cannot roam
I dreamed one day we would be old timers
But I never figured on Alzheimer’s.
Now I have a house full of stuff
Too many things - more than enough
The time has come to downsize
To an apartment in the high rise.
My children came one by one
Went through my stuff until they were done
One takes this and another takes that
And managed to do so without a spat.
Giving things away is a lonely task
My irritability I cannot mask
Gathering things with my spouse
Was more fun than cleaning out house.

Note: The following dialogue is between the voice of Mother Nature and the voice of man.
It is dedicated to the countless victims of the earthquake-induced tsunami in Samoa.
My Ring of Fire sets ready to erupt
For I, Mother Nature, have had enough
Of pollutants invading reservoirs
And oil-drilled coastlines, sands coated by tar
How thankful we are for this plentiful earth
Proceeds and profits boast our corporate worth
Our mistakes and errors in destructive ways
Mother Nature will repair in a matter of days
Sea creatures poisoned by hazardous waste
Trash left on beaches by people in haste
Sea oats destroyed as construction proceeds
Turtle hatchlings wandering toward man made beams
The land is aplenty with resources so fine
We can wash away the debris, reap when mined
Mercury, chemical and oils as well
Mother Nature will dilute as we continue to sell
Whales wash up and expire on ocean shores
Battleships litter the deepest sea floors
With thinning ozone, sea temperatures rise
Igniting rage in my volatile eyes
Another tanker runs aground of the Alaska coast
Insurance companies payout, our boards in toast
We can rely on our refineries and oil wells
For Mother Nature will replace and it will all be swell
Earthquakes, tsunamis are my weapons
Earth’s last days may be man’s time to reckon
We will reap the rewards as our conglomerates grow rich
Mother Nature will allow, our industrial snitch

Seeing others doing harmful things,
excessively drinking and using hard drugs,
I say this road is the wisest one
a very prudent individual could ever take,
hoping that nobody will lay flowers
on that spot, where a horrible crash may occur.
Perhaps I've been too cautious...
when it comes to save what I hold most precious,
not afflicting useless pain on my body;
only praying to God to safeguard me.
This afternoon, I visited my niece Crystal in Elmurst Hospital,
as she and her four friends were involved in a bad accident;
the driver, who had a legal alchool level in her blood, crashed
into a light pole last Sunday morning; were they all drinking?
That's a mere speculation, but this kind of behavior is common
among teenagers; Asia, the driver of the car, is into a coma slowing improving.
Crystal has a broken leg and fractured pelvis, begging nurses for help;
and she is in acute pain and can hardly breath. Elisabeth is on a respirator...
due to a blood clot traveling to her lungs; the other two girls have minor injuries.
What does it take for irresponsible drivers not to be under the influence....
avoiding the mourning of a dear one, or even losing their own life?
Not many folks will heed this message...until they face death,
and nothing can be done to prevent them from diying.
Trongs of visitors crowd the hall, to inquire about their condition;
they hear their agony and are unable to help...ah, if they ever could!
So will you take that path which is the wisest one to avoid a possible tragedy,
or continue defying fate until its awfully late to enjoy a full life?
Their parents are as helpeless as I, but our faith makes hope grow...
that these kids will finally understand that a second chance is not given to all.
This horrible accident happened in Woodhaven, Queens, NY on August 15, 2010.

Born in that historical and eventful year
when changes were sweeping this country,
peace songs were heard in the scary, tumultuous air...
not realizing the dear cost for the quest of liberty
when soldiers would have gone to a foreign land so far,
to defend what others thought was sheer folly!
And their blood was shed in jungles and on dusty roads,
never feeling selfish pride by carrying the heaviest loads.
And from those sad and tragic memories,
my lyrics were written and sung to myself
with the hope of revealing them with teary eyes...
remembering what took for them to face pain without relief
and whenever letters were delayed in the mail mothers
began to fear the worst, if not a horrible death...
many went to churches and synagogues to ask God for mercy,
and yes He heard their pleas, but war had no clemency.
Many of those soldiers were given Purple Hearts
for their remarkable courage to have confronted danger without surrendering to the enemy,
others were forgotten in wheelchairs without legs and arms,
and they wept with no one offering comfort, warmth and sympathy...
but on those heart so proud of their Motherland they wore American flags,
unable to forget their commitment when they were asked to fight for their beloved country.
O brave soldiers, if no medals or honors were given you...let me reward you for your fright:
by erasing all the atrocity of bloody scenes that still are troubling your longest, coldest night.

Sunrise across the river, laughter going through my head,
I don't know what become of you, just a laugh away from,
Some of the things you said. I can hear the river roar.
Rocky mountain river, saw through a vocal score.
Late mournings hours with only the days heat to gain,
Watching, listening to Mother Earth play her games.
Seeing the day before me, remembering you this way,
Calms my upset unsettled thoughts that started my day.

The dedication of this journalist gem
Whose writing, brought down
Drug dealing men
Eire's Sunday Tribune
And Sunday's Business Post
Newspapers of note, for in them she wrote
But it was the criminal world
And her writings so splendent
That craved her to write for the Sunday Independent
This brave reporter put her life on the line
To reveal to her country
Their drug filled slime
To avoid libel
Pseudonyms she chose
To protect the paper, from legal blows
Drug dealers uncovered
Showing their ill gotten gains
Irrespective of lives and families pains
Threats turned to visits, firing shots at her home
To deter her uncovering
In her investigative roam
Three months later she was shot in the leg
But the dedication of her
Thousands of newspapers were read
Near Newlands Cross
On the outskirts of Dublin
On a motorbike, two men with a gun
At a traffic light junction
With a Magnum .357
Ireland's Journalist Jewel, was taken to heaven
The name of this gem
Veronica Guerin
" In memory of a brave woman, wife and mother who took on the
criminal underworld in Dublin, Eire "

Many wonderful voices are heard...
the brighest star is seen;
o joyful bells ring in glory!
In the blue Heavens....see
the angels proclaim God's Word;
this night is cold for those
sheperds watching their restless sheep
on the Bethlehem's hills.
A shining angel startles them,
as he tells them...the Child
prophesied long ago,
has born! And that star will lead
them to the manger, where He
sleeps so calm and mellow;
doesn't Mary know that Her baby
will soon save Humankind?
O joyful bells ring in glory!
Let every angel praise
the glorious birth of a Prince,
who'll be the Sheperd of many...
whose hearts have longed for real joy!
O sweet child sent from God,
you've come to redeem the sinful world!
O joyful bells ring in glory!

The Dank Abode
------------------------
1. Dank is the echo reflected in our lives, and at any moment flood waters may rush to
greet us. A sweet hello. Our beds, our clothes and what little we own, the burglar is
mother nature's own and we can only venture out and start all over.
This be a claustrophobic home and it's a roof of old we lurk in. Sharing our domicile with
rats and roaches, various diseases, and the realities of our past turned ghost within our
eyes as we blink in disbelieve and dread it. How far we've fallen as we plunged off the
edge of the end of the world.
Now we sell you tickets, just to make enough to starve.
Geological Deficiency
----------------------------
2. With hunger in our bellies we greet the world waiting. A bus without an address
waits to greet us as the traffic builds and anger stems behind it. We wish we still had
an address to stand and start our day. The driver signals, the cars blaze and yells
curse, but we're on our way to the first real meal we'll have all day.
2.5: My mother eats rocks, I saw her! ...And she grinds her teeth upon the body of the
Earth. My mother eats rocks, because I need my dinner.
Camping Forever
--------------------------------------
3. Beneath the sky there is no shelter, there is cold and hard cement. There are
uniforms who track me where I went. The law doesn't like me for I have no place else to
go.
The limbo shelters hate me, for they're already full, they won't let me in so I stay out in
the cold.
That's why I am camping, and I think I'll camp forever. I'm not alone, there's plenty of
us here, pitching our tents and chewing our beans but where else do I go? When the
world doesn't want me around, I guess I'll camp forever.
--------------------------------------
I apologize if any of this feels short inadequate but I was in a rush. I'll do some repairs
to these when I have the time.
Here is the news piece that inspired these poems.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=suJCvkazrTc

Jellyfish is the stinging kind,
it is found in droves
on our crowded beaches...
any little sting can drive anyone wild.
Yes, they are spineless, mordant and gelitous...
being closed watched by large gulls with a hungry palate,
but are chased away by dogs so ferocious;
I'm wondering how they will look and taste on my plate!
And still curious kids scoop them with plastic sand-shovels
and try to save them by dropping them in water-filled buckets,
running with excitement...ignoring the screams of their moms,
and they yell, " Put them down, they will sting you more than once!"
O jellyfishes, don't be vicious...we love you like shell-fish,
if you could talk, your bizarre conduct won't be misunderstood by many!
Is the water so polluted and infested with sharks that you flee from the sea,
or are the fishermen so angry for wasted time on a worthless catch?

In my sleep they came jeering,
making awful noises...shaking my bed;
I couldn't either move or talk and hearing
them speak a weird language, I covered my head.
Many nights I dreamt of corpses in cold graves,
I was walking into that cemetery I used to visit;
dead people couldn't harm me I thought to myself,
little did I know they were evil spirits who could have.
They kept on coming in dark, frightful dreams,
they tied me down with ropes and laughed,
I screamed, but nobody head my screams;
mom and dad were in the next room, they chatted.
One stormy November night, before going to bed,
I put garlic cloves underneath the mattress,
and waited for them to come closer and snap;
my plan worked, they sniffed the garlic and left!

Sensationally super, and Sagittarius son of John Spence
Pleasantly personable, and matriarch Maud Spence’s son
Enabling, exquisite, eloquent, evolving and enterprising
Naturally nice, no nonsense, and a nutritionist nobleman
Carrot consumer, constant comrade and cold-war veteran
Equitably enlightened, and just an elegant eggnog taster
Jumping Jupiter, a jubilant sundae lover, and just a jewel!
Comments: During my twenty plus years of military service I was always called
Spence, J. That's just the way the government does business. This acrostic is
about Spence, J. It's crafted on a combination of alliteration, assonance and
consonance sounding words. Eggnog at Christmas is my favorite. Having a
Sunday afternoon sundae at the ice cream parlor is oh so tasty. Wow! I just love
it!!! Anyway, here are some comments on writing an acrostic. The basic acrostic
poem is formed by writing a word vertically down the page, which may also be
the topic of the poem. It’s recommended to use one letter per line, and the
beginning letters should be all capital ones. Each line of the poem should begin
with the letter on that line and the line should pertain to the word or title being
used. Some may recommend using one word or a phrase which does not have
to rhyme; however, one may move beyond the basic acrostic form and use a
complete thought with a rhyming sequence. It’s also recommended to use
adjectives and phrases that describe the word or subject of the acrostic. Finally,
one may take the quantum leap and write a double acrostic where the first and
last letters of each line are the same.

Loveliness and grace
were the improper virtues
of a deceitful woman,
who would constantly use
them to seduce a married man...
that was my dad's mistress.
The holiest of women,
bearing through silence
much undeserved pain;
and love her children
she did without visible signs...
unable to toss the destiny's dice.
Dad's heart was defiled by lust,
and still expected mother's trust,
once he slapped me hard
for my rebellious attitude...
he knew his child suspected cheating,
when, most nights, he saw him fleeing.
Cuddled in a blanket on the marble floor
shivering not with cold, but with fear,
I waited for dad when everybody was asleep;
inside that big house I didn't feel secure,
it was a prince's castle hunted by ghosts...
and they attempted to grab me by their arms.
And because I resembled daddy a lot:
confident, virile, strong with the looks of a charmer;
I feared I would have become him and cared less,
without self-affection, sharing a wife and a lover...
and to stop the cycle, I would have kept my sexiness intact,
even thinking of joining the priesthood to avenge my dad's mistress.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

all of our great steps
as well as our
more human steps
that we do most often
are greatly overexaggerated
like lofty flowers
in the trees
as seeking upwards
reaching ridiculously
transversely
for the bananas of
tomorrow's smoothie
already on the ground
so we can be more cognizant of other energy fields
besides our own
that hit life frequency
peak to valley
valley to gorge
gorge to river
river to sky
atoms in your soul
since the dawn of time
the chemistry of the stars
reminds us of
who we really are
and that is ...

How wrong is the notion than having two great loves...
doesn't make a heart absorb what it immensely adores.
My natural motherland is that southern European country
kisses by the warm waves of the Mediterrean sea,
where a great empire rose and conquered others,
only defeated by the barbarians like the Huns.
My adopted motherland was discovered by Columbus,
who with three ships sailed the Atlantic Ocean confidently,
hoping to find a route to India, the land of spices and mystery...
and he thought all along it he had found it without any loss.
The first one made a dreamer out of me overnight,
and inspired me with her breathtaking landscapes and skies;
who has ever see Mount Vesuvius throught a teenager's eyes,
and be somewhat moved by the magnificent sight?
The second one nourished my erring and poetic spirit so sensible:
seeing snow-capped mountains, green vallies and sun-drenched canyons;
there all thoughts fled to find inspiration...like kids playing with crayons,
attempting to draw with ingenuity images very awesome and beautiful.
These two countries are loved by me as I loved sweet mother;
the old one holds her strict religious values and the other has more realistic freedom,
not suggesting to quickly discard one, and embrace the other;
I will definitely love them both and honor their flags with the joyful beats of my drum.
How happy and grateful I am to have had these friends fulfilling my worthiness
that daily shaped my character and broadened my avenues towards success.

I heard on the news
Another two are lost
That makes 206
Is there, a whatever the cost
We are there to assist
A country so reft
Inner fighting
To help the rest of the left
Guerrilla warfare
Tactically strong
Thousands of miles
Where we don't belong
The people we vote in
Would they go in their place
To show their people
Dying is no disgrace
I will never allow
My children to fight
A war so improper
A conflict not right
To show our presence
As we parade their land
A remote explosion
Blown up on demand
How can we serve
A regime so unfair
They can starve their women
Because he can't have her there
To fight for their freedom
As they fight themselves
The decision should be made
To save ourselves
The Russians failed
So now we try
Coalition troops
In daily die
The modern wars
Will always be run
No color or religion
Ever stopped a bullet from a gun
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war.php

Cry
Once
Then none
Flint River
Thrown from bridge two small
Babies sister brother drowned
Every time go by I hear the children cry call me
Mother experienced temporary insanity threw them from bridge to swift water

In 1957, there existed a plan
To rid Rwanda of the Tutsi clan
Power they had, too much for one side
The foundation for, future Genocide
1960, the monarchy was gone
Will both sides sing the same song
Sadly not as the persecutions start
Ripping this African country apart
1973, under a new regime
Juvénal Habyarimana promised restrain
Progress and reconciliation proposed to be
For this country to unite, finally
1994, Habyarimana gunned down
His assassination, country drowns
This killing of him, the carnage starts
Population half, ripped apart
The killings horrific, no one spared
Machete slain, heads caved
Hacking, be-headings as families fall
As CNN tune in, the world appalled
The continuance, of the slaughtered tribes
Men, women and children you can't describe
Women raped, and the unborn slain
This horrific act of human pain
Most of the fallen, in their own villages dead
By another clan, they thought were friends
Indescribable to the world as our televisions show
The massacre of innocents, as we watch blow by blow
Where does it all end, can we try the same songs
How many more of these Rwanda wrongs
It appears to be a human trait
To kill each other for the sake of it

Yes, I am a Native.
See my brown skin, my dark hair.
Come walk through my reserve,
Learn the truth, if you dare.
See this house,
This nice, big one right here?
Here an abused child sits alone,
Afraid to even shed a tear.
Shall we continue our walk?
See that house, with the bright light?
Here a young boy watches his mother drink,
Waiting for her to start a fight.
Stop...Hear that noise in the woods?
Oh, it's just some kids smoking a joint.
Have you had enough truth yet?
Have you even begun to get the point?
Remember that lonely, abused child,
The little one so full of fear?
Well now he beats his kids and wife,
Then he celebrates with a beer.
And the young boy with his drunk mother
Now sits alone, wishing he would die.
As he punches hole into his wall
He wonders, would his mother even cry?
What about those little pothead kids?
Most of their lives are wrecks:
Jabbing needles into their arms,
Spending all of their welfare cheques.
We've come to the end of our tour.
You see, life on the rez isn't that great.
The people here no longer feel love,
Our home has become a land of hate.

The trees in bloom, all red and gold
Gifts from the sun, it shines so bold.
On down the road, as you can see
A place that means the world to me.
The house still stands, the weeds are tall,
That doesn't bother me at all.
When we lived there, mom, dad, and me
Could feel the love from just us three.
I grew up there without a care,
Had everything I needed.
My days were filled with mom and love,
At night , my dad I greeted.
After supper, ready for bed, we'd head for his big chair.
He'd read me me books and tell me stories, we'd visit everywhere.
As my eyes grew heavy, he'd put the books away.
He'd carry me off to my room, and listen while I'd pray.
All that happened years ago,
They're both gone now, you see.
But I remember all the love
My mom, my dad, and me.
Life of stress has brought me back
To sit and reminisce.
Of home, and mom, and dad, and me
The things I dearly miss.

High upon Barton Creek sits a sacred spot
where water falls and love presides.
Hawks glide over rocky ridges and hiddren trails
lead to rocky ledges.
Across the creek a magical gateway lies;
I will go there one day or perhaps I've already arrived.
As I sit atop this rock touching elements combined;
air - earth - fire - water.
I feel the magic come alive as
tree touches rock, rock touches water, water surrounded by air,
sun shining down. Mother Earth breathes in her beauty.
I am there breathing in with her; Mother Earth is alive as I am alive.
And, now we live together in harmony once again, hopefully,
until the end of time.

Dying for Freedom
American and British soldiers
Will be remembered
" Dedicated to the losses our countries are taking to fight for our freedom "
Haiku or Senryu matters not
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war3.php

In the lovely Campanian countryside, amid
verdant hills and mountains...where Virgil
stopped to rest,while jeourneying to visit Cybele's temple,
lie a fertile valley where chestnut and walnut trees
abound...there is hidden the bustling town of my birth!
Narrow streets overlooked by bell towers,
and whenever the sturdy bronze bells ring
in the fragrant air of early spring:
young and old from windows and balconies,
in the twelfth hour, engage
in the sweet thanksgiving prayer...
while the tricolor flags sway in the warmest breeze!
The town's friendly people will welcome you with song,
untill you feel wonderful and touched by all;
this town has seen invasion, pestilences and a dire year...
an almost fatal hurricane that prevented a fierce battle
from being fought during World War II;
was Divine Intervention a factor to be acknowledged?
It spared this town being bombarded by air,
and it saved my mother's life to tell this truth!
God blessed this unknown place,
and sent Mary with the infant Jesus,
four days after He was born,
on a long jeourney through that valley
filled with peace and beauty:
to find a revered and holy mountain...
much closer to Heaven!
And She shed many tears
to give all the dull flowers
a brilliance of their own!
Deep in the hills there was a very special place I choose,
where I would rever the magnificence of the valley...
revealing a superb panorama with the Vesuvius in sight,
was there another creation as magnificent as that ?
And that owesome view perked up my inspiration inside,
teaching my tiny fingers to write with a human heart!
O Baiano, don't strip this name from your walls and stones:
I am a forgotten native who will return before he'll die!

Desolate to some
Tired eyes gaze at the sand
Wind blows gusts that sting
Tumble weeds careen
Goat heads stick
The heel of your feet.
Joshua trees, with
crooked arms and frowns
Cactus speculate their
next potential victim
Quiet, vacant of much
human activity
Miles of nowhere
For eyes to see
What is one mans refuse
is another mans treasure
I say this desert
It is so bleak
But different the words
my mother speaks.
Her memories here
Of laughter and joy
This sad, bleak sand
Is my mothers paradise

I used to catch the twinkle in the corner of your eye
salty water spraying from your hair into the sky
"What were you dreaming when I saw you floating by?"
"I closed my eyes and counted up a million butterflies..."
We watched the sun slip slowly down
and cooled our feet in the sand
Shells on my knees and the warm summer breeze
slip like the sea through my hands
"Salt is good for your skin", you say.
(I'm too tired to shower anyway)
Sleep is a continuous rocking wave
and it meets my shore at the end of the day.
With you: I'm an ocean, miles deep.
Without you, I must hibernate in winter sleep
and dream of the summer's cast on the beach
when the twinkle in your eyes was within my reach.

The blood of Emeralds
In Northern Ireland's streets
Where sides detest
Victims they seek
Religious divide
Neighbours slain
For the life of me
What to gain
These troubled times
Historic sores
Deep rooted pasts
Now to the fore
IRA
UDA
Many guns came out to play
Both sides fell, as they murderously slay
During the week, even Sundays
The Belfast agreement of 1998
This Land of Emeralds, in peaceful state
Neighbours safe to talk again
Never allow the blood, on the Emeralds stain
" Dedicated to all Ireland - The Emerald Isle "

The hoes
The projects
Always think you flyy,
Yet ya mother struggles
Father has two jobs
Don’t have enough money
And you still get robbed
Walk thru the hood
Niggaz always stare
Look left, Look right
Cops always there
Run up in peoplez house
Don’t even have a reason
Just want to run about
The street girls
The hood niggaz
The sirens
The fights
Crack heads and drug dealers
Parties all night
Remember those days
You know you miss that
Always wonder why
You would want to go back
Go back to the life
Of sex and crime
Baby mother struggles
Baby father hustle
Boys running around all crazy
Girls running the streets
Having madd babies
Mind ain’t set to go to skool
Damn that’s shame
‘Cause you think that’s cool
Low grades
High standards
Bandanas hangin’
Always flaggin’
Niggaz is stackin’
Niggaz is packin’
Clothes cut low
Body’s all shown
Struttin down the streets
You know she hoe’ in
Girls on the corner
Boys on the corner
Realize that’s how it is
Even if it ain’t how they was brought up
The hoes
The projects
Wonder who gon’ die next?
The struggle!
The streets!

Suddenly, I would give anything to be near you.
I would buy back our old house, broken down, dilapidated.
Loquat trees and rainbows removed.
Hammocks and honeysuckle given to the wind.
But where would you be?
Would you visit me in dreams as I slept in a room that was only yours?
The light from long gone sleeping limbs of rain trees
still dancing their shade in my dreams in a reflection of all that you loved?
Where would you be?
I could walk the same streets I walked as a child.
The asphalt sighing relief to be near my steps again.
Neighbors, long dead, still quiet in bleached white houses.
Gardenia bushes still tempting me to wear an ornament behind my ear,
to brown the white flesh of flowers.
But where would you be?
I could climb our old roof and sunbathe two strokes nearer to a solar universe
than ever before.
I could plug my ears with music and close my lids to the orange orb
and dissolve.
Dissolve into 16 years old.
Dissolve into safety, undoing the jaded burns of sorrow on my lips.
But where would you be?
Loquat trees window me in a just a short bloom.
Fruitage to be savored before it reaches sunstroke.
Rainbows, too, pass by with the wave of the sprinkler.
I could jump through, soaking wet, at age 10,
stringy hair and naive smile shining.
But, where would you be?
Hammocks leave their dreams to their occupants,
just an empty netted carcass without human weight.
The sweetest honeysuckle only knows hummingbirds in secret
as it bids them fly before our eyes tether their wings.
So, now, I ask you in pleaded breath, where would you be?
Perhaps, the street.
They could tear down your house, my house, the safety of a universe gone by,
strip it of it's trees and it's ability to produce life,
and the street would still remember you.
Sunflower seed shells tossed to it's skin.
Thorns of bougainvillea's washed down it's drains.
Your DNA somewhere still alive in a crevice cracked from a summer torrential downpour
where your footsteps smiled soaking wet.
Perhaps, it would all be worth it.
I will shake myself awake at half past seven.
I will bulldoze my own insignificant sorrow,
my own living in past dreams,
my own inability to cope with a future devoid of your laugh,
and I will find you, among the many layers of the skin I call my own.
And tonight, with the remaining half of my heart in my hands,
I'll meet you on our street for one last evening walk.

I wanted to let you know
That I made it here, that night
I know you don’t understand
Because the time just wasn’t right
There were so many things,
Things I wanted to do
But for the time I spent here on earth
I’m so thankful I had a family like you
You all taught me well
You showed me so much love
If ever you need me
I’m watching you from above
Just before my time had come
My thought were filled with you
But I wasn’t all alone, mom
The Lord was right there, too
So although it ended to soon
And things won’t seem the same
Look for me when it’s cloudy
I’m helping God pour out the rain
Love Carlie

Every heart belongs a Country...
big or small, with or without prosperity;
a beloved and cherished Country
has its precious name
on each heart loving freedom!
It may have a beautiful ocean or sea,
breathtaking mountains so misty,
or a desert that can never flourish;
it may have raging rivers,
wild forests with sparkling waterfalls...
wealthy or unwealthy it is still a bliss!
Every heart belongs to a Country,
my Country is no different from others...
with a sky ever blue, like the calm sea
hiding islands with a striking beauty;
I walked its flowery and rocky paths,
plunged my looks to the clear deep
to discover what others seek...
nothing She withheld from me!
A foreigner among native inhabitants,
abiding and hard-working,
thriving in this prosperous Country...
where all are given an opportunity;
and if everyone starts out
with the simplest dream,
it can bring them financial security...
anything is at their command through incentive!
Every heart belongs to a Country,
it may be mine, yours or theirs;
it may be depraved of liberty or free,
have green forests, open meadows
or barren soil without streams...
but the people's creed
is sacred and holy!
Loalty and bravery always endure
in every heart that belongs to that Country...
that can inflame their ardor!